


Cupid Shoot Me

by nni



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nni/pseuds/nni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddos!” his voice booms from every speaker on Helios as the slew of gifts jettison out of an airlock and float leisurely by. Well, except the alcohol. Never waste good liquor, kids.</p><p>"So, I'm guessing you won't want this, then."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know why, but i wanted to push something out for valentine's day and it got.. kind of out of hand, lengthwise, so that beautiful 'e' rating will be justified in the next chapter, either today or tomorrow 
> 
> sort of set in an au i'm working on writing, but probably won't have any real bearing on that work once i get it finished and posted
> 
> anyway, i ramble, enjoy

This year, just like every year for a while now, Jack is his own Valentine. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s not like anyone else could spoil him like he deserves, anyway. The lazily dissected pile of gifts from wannabe suitors (the good stuff) and sniveling ass-kissers (the not so good stuff) brave enough to send something his way is proof enough of that. Useless. Unless..

He looks at them again, this time an idea shining bright in his eyes, and not five minutes later-

“Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddos!” his voice booms from every speaker on Helios as the slew of gifts jettison out of an airlock and float leisurely by. Well, except the alcohol. Never waste good liquor, kids.

But, shit. That felt good, he’ll admit, but not as good as he’d hoped. It's been a long day, even longer having to deal with star-crossed shitiots and those stupid dangling hearts that are ‘good for company morale’. He can think of a few things that might be _good_ for _morale._ But that's not the point, the point _is_ , it's finally.. whatever time it is (he's not sure and doesn't really care, he can leave whenever he damn well wants), and Jack is heading to the penthouse to spend an evening with a new stash of liquor, a hot shower, and the best lay in the known galaxies: himself.

That's the plan, at least. Or it is until he's halfway to his private elevator and his office doors slide open, and suddenly.. it's not.

“So, I'm guessing you won't want this, then.” There's a hint of mirthless laughter to the voice, and of all the people with the right clearance to not be greeted by a bright and happy turret, Jack can only think of one dumb enough to try and get him anything for.. well, any holiday, really. So far he hasn't missed a single one, and Jack is absolutely not going to examine why he can't friggin’ seem to turn them down. Jack does not have _soft spots,_ not for anyone.

He groans under his breath, exasperated with himself, and calls “Hold up, kiddo,” to Rhys’ retreating footsteps. He's too far away to grab him by the arm and keep him in place, which is probably a blessing as far as his pride is concerned, but Rhys stops and turns to him all the same. The kid comes to heel with no more prompting than a jerk of the head, and Jack can't help but grin at how well he's trained him.

“What's in the box, cupcake?”

Rhys picks at the silky ribbon, probably without even realising, and Jack has to admit. Of everything he's gotten today, this at least looks more to his taste. Black velvet, bigger than the other boxes, secured with gold silk, none of that red and pink heartsy crap that makes him want to put a pretty pink bullet in his brain (note to self: next year, holiday themed bullets and elemental weapons? talk to marketing). He'd be surprised by how expensive it looks, but he knows what Rhys’ paycheck looks like since bringing him back, he'd made sure of that himself. Nobody could accuse him of not looking out for his team, after all.

“Oh, it's um, it's nothing,” Rhys answers finally, clearing his throat. “I mean, what do you get the man who has _literally everything_ anyway, am I right?” he says, and pulls the box a little closer to his chest.

Jack just cocks an unimpressed brow at him, crossing one arm over his chest and extending the other out, palm up and fingers wiggling towards his prize. “Damn right you are, now gimme.” It's easy enough to blame his almost eager interest on his greed. Easy enough for Rhys to believe it at least, and Jack himself is more than willing to chalk it up to selfishness and call it a day.

But it's taking way too long, giving him too much time to think as the kid stares hesitantly at his hand like he's suddenly regretting every decision he's ever made, and from what he saw down on Pandora, well. Maybe that's not entirely uncalled for. Jack isn't exactly known for being a wellspring of patience though, so he reaches out a little further and somehow, miraculously, finds the self-restraint to not just wrench the box from his assistant's hands. Instead, he sighs and runs a hand through his expertly tousled hair.

“Alright, pumpkin, do me a favour and hand it over.”

And without another second of hesitation, Rhys does. He almost looks confused at how fast his hands comply, like they’re moving without his permission, and Jack's lip twitches up into a faint grin.

“Good boy,” he praises, and pats Rhys’ head absently as he inspects the package.

“It's- it's nothing, really, I just--” Rhys’ words are rushed and he looks for all the world like he wishes he could rewind time and stop himself from coming in here, but Jack shushes him with a stern finger and a quick “hup-hup,” and he settles for regarding the gift like it's betrayed him instead.

“It's fine, sugar,” he mumbles, distracted. He's taking his time looking over the wrappings now, and it's almost scary how well this kid seems to know him. No tag, but it’s not like it wouldn't be obvious who it's for from a mile away. The velvet and the ribbon both are overlaid with a light honeycomb pattern, so subtle you might miss it if the light didn’t hit it just right. In the middle of the perfect, perky bow sits a dark _H_ made from some kind of crystal, somehow luminous and clear as eridium but dark as space itself. Either he bribed some upscale place for a custom wrapping job, or he did it himself, and honestly Jack isn't sure he's prepared for the latter, so he doesn't ask.

Instead, he slips his fingers under the ribbon and slides it off the box, and he could swear he hears Rhys’ breath hitch when he sets it on the desk and reaches for the lid. He pops a corner up, but it's a tight fit, so he sets it down and shimmies the plush top the rest of the way off and--

And stares. It's almost a conscious effort to keep his breath steady as he points an accusing finger at the contents, lying snug in the same silk that makes up the ribbon.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, and there's an undercurrent to his voice that he wants to be anger, but honestly, he isn't sure.

Rhys’ voice is tight and shaking when he answers, and Jack had thought that they were past all this unabashed fear, for the most part at least, and maybe he's still right. The way the words waver sounds dangerously more like nerves than terror.

“It's, ah, it's bourbon,” he explains. “Eden Honey, actually. I remember you said you liked it because it's  ri-”

“Rich and smooth just like me, yeah, yeah, I got that much. I can _read,_ princess.” He waves his hand dismissively and points back to the box, the thing _next_ to the beautiful bottle he's so tempted to chug and forget this ridiculous conversation ever happened. Looks like Rhys might need it more at this point, though.

“Right. That,” Rhys says, voice quiet like he's realising how stupid this idea is and hoping he could get away without having to explain. “It's.. a frame.”

Honestly, Jack doesn't even have the energy to heave another exaggerated sigh, so he just levels him with the most deadpan, put-upon look he can muster. Because really. He's not an idiot and Rhys knows better than that.

“So, what, you were hoping we could take some stupid selfie and hang it in the office? Some weird fanboy fantasy you can jack off to later? What's the plan here, cupcake?”

The look on Rhys’ face is a sort of impressive blend of indignation and disgust, like he's offended at the thought that he could be so superficial and selfish.

“God, Jack, no, that's not-- I mean we could, if you-- no, fuck, stop distracting me.”

Jack's façade is starting to crack, laughter threatening to break through his shell of annoyed impatience to get on with his night as planned before he'd been interrupted as he watches the second most powerful man on Helios trip over his own words at the absurd thought of a selfie with Handsome Jack.

“Didn't say anything, sweetheart,” he says, tongue caught cheekily between his teeth.

“Shut up,” and Jack's eyes go wide in amusement because not many people have the guts to say that to his face, “I got that for a good reason! I was trying to be _thoughtful_ , dammit,” and oh, this oughta be good. “It's bulletproof, the glass, I mean, so I thought.. I figured that picture on your desk could use some extra protection. The one of-- the one of, um, Angel? Since the frame kind of ah, shattered last time you..” he shrugs and lets the sentence hang, because they both remember that incident vividly. Better than Jack would like.

They haven't talked about it, about her, since then. Since Jack had dragged his new body to Opportunity to check up on things, to check up on her, and things had.. well, they hadn't really gone as well as he'd hoped, and he maybe kind of took it out on his office on Helios. And half of Opportunity. He never thought much of the fact that Rhys hasn't brought it up, figured he was being afraid or _respectful_ , or honestly maybe hoping he'd forgotten. People don't get to know about Angel. But Rhys does, Rhys knows and he doesn’t even know everything, just that she exists- exist _ed_ , Jack had never outright told him but he's a smart kid- and he remembered. He remembered how much that picture of her means, that last picture of that wide smile and those bright eyes before he had to-- before he did what he did, and Rhys wants to _protect_ it, and Handsome Jack is not _touched,_ goddammit.

The frame is beautiful, though. It really is. White gold with that same soft honeycomb threading through it, wings nestled in the top made from gold or rose gold or.. something, god, he doesn’t know, he just knows that they'll look perfect framing her jet black hair. The frame, the thought put into it, it makes his chest tight, makes him want to plant his fist right into the side of his assistant's stupid, thoughtful _face._

But instead, he traces his fingers more delicately over the metal, and just as the silence stretches out long enough that Rhys is about to excuse himself, clears his throat and lifts the bottle of bourbon.

  
“Want a drink, kiddo?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess we're gonna have three chapters instead of two, don't worry i'm not gonna leave rhysie hangin'.
> 
> this has really been giving me some trouble for some reason, but here we go!

He can't even remember the last time he'd let someone in his Helios suite, probably back when he and Nisha were banging on the regular and decided to call it a relationship. It feels weird, like he needs to be on his guard even more than normal, but he's too tired for that shit. And it's just Rhys. The kid who's proven more than once that he'd rather save his life than take it. So, all in all, it doesn't even take a full drink before he's settled down to his baseline paranoia.

They're on their third now, though, and Rhys is matching him drink for drink, although Jack always takes his neat and Rhys dilutes his with some sort of mixer. It's not much of a surprise that the kid loosens up when he's got a few drinks in him, an attractive dust of pink on his cheeks and Jack watching with an amused grin as the space between them seems to shrink as the minutes tick by.

But now he's talking about the _thing_ again, and god this kid really needs to learn to shut the hell up and have a good time.

“--I mean it's not- I just figured maybe it’d be nice to get something from someone that's not trying to kiss your ass but it's, god it's kind of em- embarrassing, now, so I can just take it back if it's too.. y’know,” he says, and his hand is wobbling around like he can’t bring himself to say the words _cheesy_ or _personal,_ which it _is_ , but Jack is nowhere near drunk enough to actually _talk_ about things. Doesn’t need to be drunk to mess with him, though.

“Why's that, sweetheart?” he asks with an easy grin, swirling what's left of his bourbon around the tumbler before he downs it in one go. Rich and smooth, just like he'd said, but right now he kind of misses the burn. “Still got that little crush?”

It's weird, how he can’t seem to let that go. This isn't anything new, everyone wants to be with Handsome Jack, and every once in a while it's fun to laugh at some dipshit that goes a little overboard, but mostly it's just a fact of life, as true as the Pandoran sky is blue. He's never letting him live down the poster thing, that's for damn sure, but the rest.. His eyes snap up to Rhys, glad he's interrupted before he can fall too far down that skag hole.

“Oh my god, why. Why are you still on that. Can you just, I dunno, forget about it and shut up for like five minutes?” And my _god_ , is he adorable when he's all flustered.

“Nah ah, pumpkin,” he says, and his grin spreads even wider, but it's quiet, distracted as he runs his thumb over the line of Rhys’ jaw. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the frame, and he wonders what Angel would've thought of his new protégé. Okay, that's not entirely true-- he doesn’t _wonder_ , he _knows._ She would like him, no doubt about that. He stands up to Jack, and he's what she would've called a “good influence” on him. Rhys gives him a sort of look when he rolls his eyes at his own thoughts and drops his thumb down to the hollow of his throat, fingers resting just beneath the tattoo on his neck just to get a rise out of him.

Suddenly, he likes where this train of thought is going much less than his hand, so he follows that instead and leans in to growl in Rhys’ ear, “I've got a better idea.” His voice is low and rough from anger and alcohol, and maybe a little bit of want. Come on, Rhys is a good looking guy, it's not like he's never thought about it, he just always figured it would be an angry rush over his desk, quick and dirty and pounding out all his frustration, not.. whatever this is.

But, y’know. Fuck it.

He doesn’t give himself time to think, just pulls Rhys to him at the same time he surges forward, and they crash together in a sharp mess of lips and teeth. Mostly Jack’s at first, Rhys is a little too taken off guard to do much of anything until he-- pushes Jack back, actually, close enough that he can still smell the bourbon on his heavy breaths, but far enough to break the heated kiss.

“Y-you're not-” Rhys starts, and swallows around the crack in his voice. “This isn’t some kind of weird elaborate prank, right? You're not gonna, like, get me hot and bothered then shove me out the door with my pants around my ankles, are you?”

And he has to admit, that would be pretty hilarious if the situation was a little different. But as it is, he's not about to deny himself the chance to get off with the hot young thing that's been eating at his thoughts more than he'd care to admit.

“Kitten, babe, shut that pretty mouth and enjoy yourself for once, yeah?” His hand skates over Rhys’ side, lips dangerously close to his again but he's not an _asshole_ , he won't do anything until he gets the okay.

Which takes all of two seconds, and comes in the form of Rhys’ tongue shoving past Jack's lips. He grins into the kiss and mutters “That's more like it,” gripping him tighter. Rhys feels so fucking good pressed into the cushions beneath him, and he lets instinct take over and drown out that voice in the back of his head blubbering about _feelings_ and _consequence_ ; lets his body tell him what it wants.

And what it _wants_ is to hear that sweet sound again, the one Rhys makes when he sinks his teeth into his neck. So, naturally, he does it again, grinds his hips against the ones below him and _grins_ when he feels Rhys’ dick swell against his thigh. His fingers twist into that stupid, well-coiffed hair and he licks a stripe down his throat, groaning when he feels him swallow because he can think of a few better uses for that throat.

“Up, princess, c’mon,” he says as he sits back up, hauling Rhys with him by the tie. “On your knees, think you can handle that?”

Rhys seems good with that. He seems really fucking good with that, nodding and sliding his long legs out from under Jack and onto the floor, tossing off his shirt in the process. “Consider it a Valentine's favour.” There's a smirk on his lips as his eyes lock on Jack’s, the sassy bastard, but his pupils are blown and his hands are shaking a little too hard as he undoes Jack’s fly for him to be anything but excited. This is probably fulfilling, like, half of his old fantasies. Hell, better even, because it's the  _real thing_ , and Handsome Jack is always better than a fantasy. Even one about him.

It's quite the sight once he's settled, his pretty assistant nestled  between his knees, his own cock flushed almost as pink as Rhys’ chest and twitching as it slips from his jeans. Rhys pulls his eyes from Jack’s to stare at it for a moment, almost reverent, before he takes the head into his mouth, tongue pressed up against the underside and sucking gently. Either the kid’s thought about this more than Jack had considered, or he's just that intuitive, but he doesn't even have to guide contrasting eyes back to his own, like he somehow already knows what Jack likes.

He sighs and pets at Rhys’ hair rewardingly as he works him to his full length, and the way he hums in response positively sings through Jack's spine. This is clearly not the first time he's had a dick in his mouth, or if it is he's a goddamn prodigy. His lips are unbelievably soft as they kiss down Jack's cock to mouth at his balls and lick a slow, messy stripe back up to the head. The way his tongue presses thick and warm against the underside, teases at the vein there, almost has Jack seeing stars, and he rolls his hips with a low growl in his chest.

He starts up his own rhythm and Rhys is all encouragement, exaggerated moans and enthusiastic bobs of his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks him further down and a little bit of drool pools around the corners of his mouth, drips down his chin. Jack groans at the sight and fists his hand tight in Rhys’ hair, urges him down until he feels his nose brush against his groin and the head of his cock presses into the slick, smooth muscle at the back of his throat.

“Thaaaat’s it, babe,” and his voice is low enough that he feels it rumble in the cushions. He keeps Rhys there for a minute, a light pressure on the back of his head as he cards through his hair, and the bastard _swallows._ Does it again when Jack jerks and thrusts into his throat, and he could swear that he's trying to _grin_ at him, too smug for his own goddamn good. Jack takes the opportunity to teach him a lesson, pumping his hips until he's just at the edge, but all Rhys does is suck with all he's got and massage his tongue along as much of his cock as he can.

“God you look good like this,” he praises, and it's absolutely true. Wide, gleaming eyes and pink skin, pinker lips stretched around his dick and wet ropes of spit rolling lazily down his chin. “Should take a picture.” He snickers to himself, but Rhys moans around him at the praise and he returns the favour, louder than he really means.

It's a toss up, really, whether he'd rather watch him swallow once he's done or feel it, but his dick sure seems to know. Whatever whirlwind of anger and lust and appreciation has been propelling him so far keeps him going, just a few more pumps of his hips until he's watching Rhys’ watering eyes while he swallows everything he's got to give. And the kid’s a damn tease, dragging his tongue along his softening cock as he pulls it out, lapping up the last little bits clinging to the head and whatever is spilling down his chin with a wide smirk looking out of place on a face so thoroughly debauched.

“Valentine's Day gifts-” poor kid, his voice is raw and wrecked and he swipes his left hand over his mouth- “not all so bad, huh?” He laughs, light and airy, and Jack drags him up into a bruising kiss before he can start thinking about how damn _cute_ and _considerate_ this asshole is, pleased with the yelp of surprise that he swallows down from Rhys’ mouth. He can taste the bourbon and a little bit of his own lingering aftertaste, but somehow that only almost has him ready for round two. Seems like he isn't the only one when his hand dips between them and he pulls another long, loud groan from Rhys’ throat with a hard squeeze, feels the way he pulses against his palm.

  
“Looks like I've still got one to open up,” he drawls, and his hand glides up Rhys’ thigh to dip below his waistband. “We're both gonna have some fun tonight.”


End file.
